Bowing to the Porcelain God

The room is a bustling orgy of movement. Swaying left, right and left again before I run for the ladies room, overcome by nausea. Must be motion sickness. Happened during Blair Witch too.

The hollow bounce of the stall door echoes thunder in my head. I lean further over the toilet seat; it is glistening white with chunks of my dinner speckled around the edges. I watch the swirl of the water, unending, fluid, pure, calming and downward. I rest my pained feet, cramped like cattle cars in 1940.

How did I end up like this?

I once wrote down a list of rules to live by in my journal. It was to be the law that governed my life. It was so beautiful, innocent and revolting that I hurled again at the thought.

Never get stuck in an unfulfilling job.
Less regrets and worries.
Die young, but live life.

I retch and gag, roll over and feel for the porcelain. The white, pristine spring of forgiveness. I could have written Hallmark cards.

Somewhere along the path of life I decided to go offroad - a whale run aground. But life is a highway, so why can't I find an offramp? I missed my exit ten minutes ago and now I am sitting in a mildew-stained tile washroom, staring at the phone numbers of previous occupants offering sexual favours with flecks of spaghetti sauce in my hair.

How did I end up like this?
Must have fallen asleep with the cruise control on...

"Bowing before the porcelain god" is also mentioned in the book "Wasted" by Marya Hornbeck in reference to bulimia. This doesn't seem to far off when you consider the time and worship put into cultivating an eating disorder. When food becomes sin, and sin must be washed away, what better god than the toilet you expel into. This idea behind the connection of God and food in eating disorders is also explored in the book "Holy Hunger" by Margaret Bullitt-Jonas.

The tank is my headboard. I shall not vomit.

Thou makest me to lie on thy green toilet rug;

Thou makest me to barf into thy still blue waters.

Thy handle restoreth thy bowl.

Thou leadest me down the the hallway, for my roommate's sake.

Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Bacardi 151,

I will fear no alcohol, for thou art just down the hall, third door on the left.

Thy seat and thy handle, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a place for me out of the sight of my houseguests.

Thou anointest my head with cool water. Thy bowl runneth over.

Surely aspirin and tylenol shall follow thee, all the days of my life.

And I will dwell on the linoleum floor 'til morning.